Songbird
by Sevanadium
Summary: By the time he was twelve years of age, Roderich clearly knew that his passion lay in music, and when his thirteenth birthday slipped around the corner, he was well versed in composing his own, though self-doubt began to tail him once he reached fourteen. Coincidentally, the same time that he met Basch and Lili Zwingli in the park and when something else begins to plague him.


Roderich Edelstein

 _Just days before the end of the war Roderich Edelstein was shot in his personal office, and passed away after some hours in the hospital. The funeral will be held on the 5th of May and will only be open to close friends._

 _Roderich was a man that immersed himself in music and did not let himself be sidetracked by petty things such as war. Although it made him seem like his priorities were wrong, it actually made him better than many of his friends, whom had spent their entire lives obsessed with the notion of it. He was a man of creation rather than one of destruction and the masterpieces he sculpted will withstand the harsh judgement of time and will continue to inspire happiness in others for years to come. He was a good friend to many and did not let prejudice get in the way of his relationships with others. Though his friendship was hard to gain, he was a loyal friend._

 _Centuries ago, when he was a much smaller force and did not have all that much power, he was still a formidable personality. Over time he grew in both strength and wisdom until he became one of the key players in the Great War. During which he held his own even if his people were weakened and that is truly admirable of him. He will be survived by his friends and those he considered family._

 _We look forward to meeting with you soon, Roderich_

 _L. Beilschmidt._

* * *

There weren't many people at the funeral — his personal one anyways. From his seat, in the back corner as usual, Basch could only see Elizaveta next to Gilbert, the former there because of mutual respect, the latter out of fear for a slap upside the head over being disrespectful to the dead. Even then, Elizaveta still giggled and not-so-playfully punched Gilbert in the arm.

It was not like Roderich was well and truly dead. For his flag still blew in the wind and his people still fell under the name of Austria, and Basch hated funerals for that reason. Though they were few and far between, they did not truly mean closure, like a funeral did for people that lived through a much more linear life than they did.

Roderich was physically in his early twenties when an Italian soldier shot him, hoping for revenge. Feliciano sat in one of the front pews, devastated and crying about how it was all his fault. Like Basch, he sat alone. Ludwig was barely well enough to write the eulogy, never mind attend the funeral, so Bach cut him some slack as he had tried to come and had ended up setting his recovery further back.

It would only be twenty years before he would see Roderich again, not that he felt very amiable towards the man in that moment, much preferring harsh looks and snide comments about his preference for music over things like how his country was in a state of war, not that Basch's thinly-veiled insults did much at the end of the day.

Lili wasn't with him — Basch has made sure of that as she didn't deserve to attend the funeral of someone that should rightfully still be alive. One well placed bullet was all it had taken to ignite the question of: Will Austria be dissolved? He knew better, knew that it wouldn't happen, knew that within twenty or so years he would he the idiot again. Yet, still fear crept up on him and engulfed him in a cloud of smog like what came from trains as they rumbled past. Roderich was his childhood friend, and no matter what he did, he wouldn't forget those years he had spent with him, even with the better half of a bottle of strong alcohol pulsing through his throat and enticing him to forget.

Though Roderich might not need the aid of a drug to help him forget.

* * *

By the time he was twelve years of age, Roderich clearly knew that his passion lay in music, and when his thirteenth birthday slipped around the corner, he was well versed in composing his own, though self-doubt began to tail him once he reached fourteen.

That brought him to the present, where he sat on the floor of his room with reams of papers scattered around him, each in a similar state — half-crumpled with scribbled on with a pen that he currently had in his mouth — and at the ripe age of fourteen and a half. He groaned and crumpled another paper, tossing it forcefully at his door. His fist then hit the ground in on odd way to compensate for the paper harmlessly bouncing off the wall and onto his beige-grey carpeted floor. Nothing he wrote had that edge he was looking for, it was all just loops and curls that sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him.

So there he sat until dinner time, frog-legged and fuming, wondering why he could not transfer the chords that teased the edge of his conscious mind onto paper.

Though it was a futile effort and left him to stab his way through the boiled potatoes on his plate with his fork and only answering his parents with monosyllabic grunts before turning to face his dinner and after that the process of growing more and more annoyed at his inability to write down the tune that plagued him would repeat until he went to bed out of anger and an inability to form a sensible conscious thought.

* * *

Standing there, the girl was like a song that sounded lovely when listened to, but there was nothing that set his heart racing, to try and decipher it, to see what made the piece work and gave it emotion that still came to haunt his mind once in a blue moon, months later. However, calling her pretty felt like an insult. Perfection was what graced her, yet that equalled uninteresting in Roderich's senses, much like a simple beat that has no error, as well as anything that set it apart from the rest.

Though the man next to her drew his attention. Not much was visible due to the distance he was at, but he could clearly see the barely-reigned emotion that strained the man's jaw and eyes as they flew around the park like a startled bird.

While speaking to the man she yanked his hand and nearly sent him toppling over before pointing somewhere in the distance — towards the cemetery. Roderich knew his sleepy little town almost as well as he knew his way around most of Beethoven's works, and just like the man's hand tightened around the bouquet of flowers, so did Roderich as he put his full attention on him as he was pulled away by the girl with an alarming amount of gusto.

Normally he would be able to tamp down his curiosity, but today it was insatiable, and thus he followed. As if he were hypnotised, he stood up from the park bench and hurried to follow them as they had gained some ground on him due to the time he had taken to actually get up. Clouds covered most of the sky and the sun faded in and out around him while the wind ran its fingers through his hair. A tree provided impromptu cover for him, it's bark rough and scratchy against his arm.

"... It's been fifteen years. That's a long time for a person, isn't it, brother?" the girl asked and took the man's — her brother's hand and swung it gently between them.

"I still wish that I hadn't have told you - you don't deserve to know how cruel fate is, that we can be taken away by the trigger of a lesser man's gun and be left to die alone."

"You're being pessimistic again," she chastised. "What about all the hardship that he's forgotten? He won't remember what it was like to be forced to fight a war that he didn't want."

Low and hollow, that was the sound of the man's laugh as he looked towards the grave they stood at. He kicked the old flowers away - still colourful but in the middle of wilting. "But the bastard was the cause of it. He never knew when to shut his mouth and now he's paid for it dearly. I do hope that he rests easy knowing that he no longer has to cope with the repercussions."

"How is Mr. Beilschmidt?"

"He's getting better. It's been a long road for him but he's started walking again, even though could have gone the same way and just given up, but he's chosen to fight to live, not like he did before."

"He must really be in love with Mr. Vargas then?"

A stern look came from the man. "Ludwig loves him, I know that, but I highly doubt that they're in love. Even more so when you take present views on relationships between men into question."

"But there's nothing wrong with two people loving each other though, especially if they've spent their entire lives together."

"This isn't the time for this kind of debate. Right now it's barely two decades after the Second World War and people aren't willing to hear that sort of stuff even if people are starting to become advocates for being allowed express yourself and to be who you truly are and all of that. Maybe in a few years, but not now."

As the man looked over his shoulder Roderich pushed himself up against the tree even more than he already was. Having his cover so easily blown was not something he liked to think about and it would be a better plan to get away before they left and would spot him. Games such as hide and seek had never been his strong suit, even as a child.

"You loved him, didn't you?" The way she said it wasn't discriminatory, rather like she had just stated a fact.

The man crossed his arms over his chest, having taken some offense at the statement. "I didn't love him at all. I barely even liked him. I just, I don't like knowing that I'm now the only one that remembers most of my childhood."

Her eyes were almost closed from squinting as she looked towards him. "I guess I'll believe you. Even if it was your idea to get a house in Austria and to visit his grave every Sunday."

With a waving motion he waved her off and looked away from the proximity of the grave. "We should get going. It's late and I have work to do."

"That's what happens when you don't do you work when you get it like me." Her voice lilting, much like a songbird's.

Painfully, he fell onto the ground as his foot slipped out from under him in a vain effort to get away from them walking towards him.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Already, the man's hand curling around something decidedly gun-shaped.

"I'm sorry! I was just curious, that's all." He slipped once again as he tried to get away from the people that had spotted him eavesdropping. At this moment he really was Mr. Graceful and Charming, wasn't he?

"It's just a small kid, you don't have to be so harsh," the girl admonished him.

"It's not like you're much older than me, I'm fourteen, not a little kid." Keeping his mouth shut at the right time would be a skill that he would learn anytime soon.

Seconds later the man towered over him, stern eyes boring into his own and causing him to feel somewhat inferior. The ground was cold against his back as he leaned even further into it in a bid to avoid the hand that the man now held out in a insane change of atmosphere.

"Aren't you going to take my hand so I can help you up? Or do you want to lie on the floor all afternoon?"

Roderich shook his head, unsure to which of the man's questions he was replying to, stood up without the man's help, and then dusted himself off as best as he could before looking the man square in the eye.

Glares did nothing if one felt self-conscious, which was assuredly part of the emotions that vied for dominance in his brain, only made worse by the depreciating chuckle form the man.

"What's your name then, kid?"

"I'm Roderich."

"I'm Basch and this is my little sister Lili."

* * *

Not long after that, meeting with Basch and Lili became a regular occurrence. Starting with Roderich making his way to the park on Sundays to wave half heartedly as they passed on their way to the grave, and led to them coming to talk to him whenever they arrived and finally, ended up with them letting him tag along as they replaced the wilting flowers and said a few words to the nameless grave that Roderich couldn't hear no matter how he strained.

Visiting the park had been a rare occurrence until he had met the Zwingli siblings, and up until that point he had only gone when he felt like he had to. Mainly when he need a break from all things life-related, mainly that of the musical persuasion.

Today was different. For starters, it was barely eight o'clock instead of midday shifting into a lazy Sunday afternoon, the other, and much more prominent difference, was what Roderich was currently doing. He was neither hassling over his music or sleeping in late — two things the teenager did often, but rather carrying an apple crumble he had bought using money out of his own pocket — where the woman behind the bakery counter had insisted that he was too skinny for his age and had given him a custard slice to munch on, despite him having a surplus of money in his pockets. But the custard slice was very enjoyable so who was he to complain?

Gripping the sides of the tart harder than necessary, he licked his lips subconsciously and tasted the icing sugar from the custard slice, then focused on finding the names of the roads — — it was only his like that a car rode through a puddle from last night's rain and thankfully, the cover on the tart protected it. Still, he grumbled and said a few choice words that would have made his parents attempt to wash his mouth out with soap despite him being nearly fifteen.

'Edelweiss Road' Roderich stopped abruptly, backtracked and then went down said road. The houses were much smaller than what Roderich was used to, albeit nice. House number fourteen looked like it was trying to shy away from the others with it's white-washed walls and minimal, yet well maintained front garden. Loud footsteps echoed around him as he turned up the pathway and went to the front door, carefully balancing the tart in one hand while he knocked on the door with the other.

Barely passed seconds passed before the door opened to show Lili smiling broadly.

"Hallo, Roddy! I'm glad that you managed to find us since sometimes people get a bit lost, but completely blame it on Basch's skills at giving directions." She towards the tart Roderich held. "Oh, you brought a tart? You needn't have, you're coming for lunch not some fancy party. Though, I know my brother loves apple crumble, but you really shouldn't have brought something."

Roderich passed the tart to her and Lilli didn't object much. "It's only good manners, to bring something when you're a guest, isn't it?"

"Basch will be down in a bit, he just had some work to finish quickly because he puts off his work, unlike me." She puffed up at the statement.

"You also work?" Roderich asked.

"You've got school also, don't you?" Lili said quickly.

"Well, yeah. But I don't really consider it work." Roderich began to play with the sleeves of his shirt as he stood there.

She shrugged. "I'm putting this down in the kitchen, you can come with."

"You've got a lot of old things in here," he said. Once inside the house, intimidation smacked up upside the head from history he could feel within it's less than modern interior as antique relics lined the walls and floor, all things from a bygone era of grandparents or possibly even great-grandparents.

* * *

For the first time in nearly a year Roderich the tune of the songs he yearned to create flowed through his mind, down his arm, and onto the paper. Swirling loops of the treble clefs seemingly wrote themselves as they preceded line after line of swooping songs. One song in the back of his mind that plagued him. He would hear a few notes of this esteemed song, and rush to scribble it down on a piece of scrap paper, only for it look completely wrong just moments later.

Even as he spent more time than ever on his music and his neglected school work, he still made time to meet with Lili and Basch. Visits to the park were not an often occurrence now that he went over to theirs for the odd Sunday lunch, or more commonly just a snack of whatever they had in the pantry on toast, right after they visited the unmarked grave.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't understand why they had such an attachment to it, as they refused to give him any information on it other than a 'we'll tell you in a few years'. He had a feeling that they would keep up that excuse for as long as they remained friends, but still, his curiosity remained piqued.

Roderich jerked his head away from the sunny skies he stared at through his bedroom window and onto the piano in front of him. Distractions would not help him with his concert in just a few weeks and the songs he would do had to be absolutely perfect in order to impress the people that in the audience.

If he succeeded, the next few years of his life would be easy as opportunities to work his way into the some level of prestige became apparent. That was, if he could find enough inspiration to complete that one piece that plagued the corners of his mind.

Once it finally got out of his head and onto the damned paper it would quite possibly become the best music he, and others, would ever hear in the history of music.

After an hour of sitting in front of his piano and playing various things, from the songs he would perform in three weeks, to Mozart and even a creation of his own that he deemed subpar but still well above average, he stood up and tried to shake the pins and needles out of his legs from sitting awkwardly at the piano as he usually did.

There was no way that he would be able to complete the song now.

* * *

For the first time in seven years, a long fastidious time from when he was barely fourteen, did he finally write down the tune that constantly plagued his mind and coincided with the meeting of the Zwingli's.

Only a few lines long, and about twenty seconds when actually played, the scribbles sat lopsidedly on the unfortunate serviette that had been within grabbing distance at the diner he ate his late breakfast at. He smiled giddily as he read the notes over and over again and sighed in contentment as they twirled though his mind, flicking and frolicking with every repeat.

It was a shame he couldn't even begin to fathom the rest of the song.

But still, the end was the most important part of a piece. It was the last thing that a person would hear and it would sum up the story, and would drive it home. It was the part that Roderich both dreaded and looked forward to with anticipation as it meant that his story was finally coming to an end.

A rather violent bout of hiccups plagued him and drew the attention of more than a few patrons after he had finished wolfing down his food. Once he calmed down, he left the money for the breakfast on the counter and double checked that he had the culmination of seven years of frustration within his possession and waltzed out of the diner with his head held high and a spring in his step.

Creating music had come easily to him since he was thirteen so there was not much new to him, but nothing he had ever jotted down had managed to capture the absolute perfection that was in those notes he had written and now clutched tightly within his pocket.

The walk, or rather, jog to Basch and Lili's house went faster than usual, leaving little time for ambling thoughts. Even with that, Roderich still had time to give himself a thorough questioning. Why was he even so excited to show Basch his epiphany? It wasn't because he wanted to show Lili. Even though he definitely knew, that if he wasn't such a picky bastard, he would have been content to try see if he could kindle something romantic between them.

Though he loathed to admit it, when it was approval he sought after, Little Lili wasn't who he looked at. Roderich had little interest in someone so soft spoken, someone willing to give up nearly everything to make someone else happier. There was no interest in those plain, yet angelic features that made her still look like a child despite being the same age as Roderich.

Violent opposition, that was what he yearned for — someone with the resolve of a bull that would be more than willing to face him in a tête-à-tête. With sharp eyes that had a way of looking at him down the bridge of the person in question's nose and hair that puffed out around his head in defiance.

It was Basch he sought after.

Why? The reason eluded him. Why would he want someone who had the potential to rub him the wrong way when just a sentence was uttered in the wrong tone? Why did he wish to hear murmurs of approval of someone that should, rightfully, mean nothing to him. Basch was supposed to be the stranger he had seen once or twice in the park a few years ago, not the integral part of his life he was now.

Clutching the serviette tightly in his hand he sighed. It was not something he wanted to admit, but he had feelings for the man. Though he would share that thought in his wildest dreams, or rather, nightmares. Not only did it feel wrong to feel that way about another man, but about Basch in particular. Already, he should have found someone that looked like Lili, married her, settled down, and be expecting his first child by now.

But things didn't work that way, and they were never going to be easy. Not much was said about people who were… about people that had a… about people that were, he swallowed, people that were just like him. He didn't want to think about how it was wrong in every sense and the way that he almost obsessively looked for Basch's approval.

It was unhealthy.

Yet the idea of quelling his feelings, of cutting the curve of joy that he felt when he saw Basch smile short, was plain unattractive. He would have rather ripped up his little note and thrown it into a river before he starved himself of that.

The door rattled as he battered his hand against it. Hopefully Basch wouldn't open the door and stare at him disapprovingly for a good few moments before finally inviting him inside, silently berating him for acting like a child on a sugar rush. .

It did not happen though and Basch let him in without complaint once he saw the wild look of joy that lit up Roderich's eyes. Roderich walked inside without being prompted to and paced as he waited for Basch to close the door behind him.

"You're very excited. What happened?" Basch asked.

Roderich fished the crumpled serviette out of his front pocket and thrust it into Basch's hands. "I finally did it, I managed to figure it out, after so long it's finally written down."

The other man stared at the notes for a few moments and furrowed his eyebrows. "It seems a bit short to be a composition."

"It's only the last few lines. But I did it." He snatched the serviette away from Basch and stowed it away in his pocket. "Do you think that I can play it for you sometime? I want to know if you think it sounds as good as it looks."

"Knowing you, you've just made Beethoven or whatever jealous. I'm sure that Lili would like to hear it though. Maybe when she comes home."

The nonchalant way in which Basch spoke was like someone had thrown a glass and shattered it, much like Roderich's heart. But he wasn't one to be deterred. He had worked through years of discontent for those few lines for years, and had continued to hound Basch until the dour man warmed up to him long after Lili did, and sure as hell he wasn't going to submit now.

"I know that you have that old violin in your attic. Can I use that to show it to you?" he asked Basch While what he has written was not suited for a stringed instrument and belonged solely on a piano, he would still be able to translate the music to the violin — which he considered himself proficient at after learning it when his mind had revolted against him as one point and rendered him unable to create absolutely anything for the piano.

"If you insist," Basch acquiesced and Roderich walked quickly up the stairs.

* * *

"Play it again."

And Roderich did, he repeated the notes on the violin and they scratched less than they had the first time but they still sounded almost the same. His eyes dipped just for a moment as he finished it and left his arm outstretched in a passionate gesture. While it wasn't long enough for him to lose himself in the music, it was almost heady with the way which it sounded.

"And again."

Basch almost commanded him to do it but Roderich didn't complain. It was nice to be able to hear the piece that he had just constructed, but this was the third time that he had repeated it and by now Basch would have gotten more than a bit annoyed with him and his music. Though it seemed to not be true as of this time.

After the third repeat, Basch did not ask for him to repeat it again and instead they stood their in an almost awkward silence, Roderich still cradling the old, yet comfortable violin between his shoulder and chin.

With a sudden start, Basch jerked around and headed upstairs, Roderich didn't know where he was going but his curiosity gave him no choice but to follow him after he had gently placed the violin on the careworn mahogany table in the Zwingli dining room. Thoughtlessly, he clumped up the stairs to where Basch was in the attic and stood behind him as he watched the other man rifle through a chest with ornate carvings circling around it.

Automatically, Roderich accepted the papers that Basch shoved into his hands. It was only after a few moments that he looked down and saw what was written on them. Five pages of neatly written sheet music, each note drawn with pain-staking accuracy and the corners of the pages dog-eared and torn with the actual paper itself slightly yellowed from age.

They were a part of the tune that he had just created that day and his brows furrowed as he skimmed over the pages before ending at an abrupt halt at the end of the composition, right where his one began.

"What is this?" He asked, bewildered. Was this some sort of joke? It couldn't have been because Basch was not the sort of person to do that. He was serious, more serious than Roderich even and the idea of him pulling a prank just seemed preposterous.

Basch scoffed. "I thought that you might appreciate having it back. Then you'll be able to appreciate the silly thing."

"My music is not silly! I could say the exact same thing about you and your guns. Why do you even keeps artifacts of war in your house? It's idiotic."

"Why don't you just go and play it. Maybe it will jog your memory a bit."

Jog his memory? What was Basch even talking about? Roderich did not understand nor did he want to. But he was sure that there was a reason behind what he had said. There always was, Basch was not the kind of person to talk gibberish for hours on end and instead preferred to state the facts straight away.

That just made his sentence all the more confusing.

"What do you mean?" Roderich asked, his hands itching to fold up the papers and shove them in his front pocket.

"You'll know when you know. Just don't pester me because I am not going to tell you anything."

* * *

Roderich Edelstein sat in his personal office, hunched over a few papers scattered on his desk and with his arm covering the paper that he ran his pen over. Though the war had just passed its peak and many of his fellow nations were focusing solely on the remaining niggles, he still made time for his music. Months ago, a tune at begun in his mind, a small songbird that glided down the stream until it grew into the strong eagle that it was today. He paused, his pen tapping against the desk in an indecisive beat while he tried to figure out what would come next.

Earlier that day he had seen Basch and Lili and though they weren't in the best condition, they were still quite healthy compared to the others, like Ludwig. Especially Ludwig. Although Roderich had only seen him for a short period of time his stomach still rolled at the thought of the too-thin limbs and the grimace on his face as he slept. It would take a good few years for him to get back to full strength, even with help from others. In a way, Roderich felt sorry for him, but then again... it had been Germany that had instigated the war.

He pursed his lips and continued to stare at the pages below him. Covered with scribbles they looked like the musings of a madman but they were akin to a child of his own and consequently, something that took up more time in his life than it rightfully should. It had been hours since the last meeting with his officials and he was sure that there had been at least one that he had missed. But he wanted to get the composition finished before he was forced to go home.

And it wasn't because Lili had insisted upon hearing what he had already figured out and Basch had looked towards him with a semi-approving eye. It wasn't that at all. But he was seeing them next week sometime when he went to visit Ludwig again and would be able to play the full piece in front of Basch since the man did have a preference for the more dramatic pieces that Roderich created, and this was one of them for sure. Twenty years worth of pain at losing a fair whack of his population lay in the many troughs and crests of the song and he was sure that it was one of his greatest creations yet.

A soft knock at the door started him from his music creation and Roderich looked up to see the door open and a hunched figure entering and staring right through him. The soft music that had been playing through the radio stopped as Roderich's attention was yanked towards the man.

"What are you doing here?" Roderich asked. He certainly didn't look like more than a foot soldier. Naturally, the man didn't reply and instead pulled something from his jacket.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are much appreciated, even more so since I'm really trying to work on improving my somewhat abysmal writing.**

 **Have an awesome day!**  
 **Sevanadium**


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